she was six years old when i first met her on the beach near where i live. i drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. she was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

　　"hello," she said. i answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. "i`m building," she said.

　　"i see that. what is it?" i asked, not caring.

　　"oh, i don`t know, i just like the feel of sand.

　　"that sounds good, i thought, and slipped off my shoes. a sandpiper glided by.

　　"that`s a joy," the child said.

　　"it`s a what?"

　　"it`s a joy. my mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." the bird went glissading down the beach. "good-bye joy," i muttered to myself, "hello pain," and turned to walk on. i was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

　　"what`s your name?" she wouldn`t give up.

　　"ruth," i answered. "i`m ruth peterson."

　　"mine`s wendy... i`m six."

　　"hi, wendy."

　　she giggled. "you`re funny," she said. in spite of my gloom i laughed too and walked on. her musical giggle followed me.

　　"come again, mrs. p," she called. "we`ll have another happy day."

　　the days and weeks that followed belong to others: a group of unruly boy scouts, pta meetings, and ailing mother. the sun was shining one morning as i took my hands out of the dishwater. "i need a sandpiper," i said to myself, gathering up my coat. the ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.

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